


DEATH, Death and Beer... Sorry, Tea

by RurouniHime



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, M/M, Philosophy, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend drops by for libation and philosophy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DEATH, Death and Beer... Sorry, Tea

**Author's Note:**

> This story requires a basic knowledge of the Highlander television series, as well as knowledge of the novel Good Omens. CONTAINS SOME SPOILERS FOR HIGHLANDER.
> 
> I just HAD to do this. It was prodding me to the point of insanity. ^__^ And come on, tell me you've never thought about it before, or that it doesn't make sense to you.

**DEATH, Death and Beer... Sorry, Tea**

 

The teapot had just begun to whistle shrilly when Methos finally sat down. With an exasperated sigh, he pulled himself off the couch again and padded into the kitchen. He plunked a teabag into one of the clean mugs and added water, then put it on the tray alongside his own drinks and returned to the couch. "Here we are, then. You know, I wasn't expecting you to show up. Oh— that's sugar there, and a spoon."

His companion looked at the mug, and then back at him. Methos smiled. "Oh, I prefer beer tea. Hold the tea."

It really was eerie, the way the other didn't move. Not to fidget, not even to breathe. Methos wondered if it was something cultivated, or if maybe his companion had always been that way. Suspected it was the latter. "So, I suppose you've been keeping busy? Not too bored lately? Frankly, I don't see how you can be. Bored's probably not even in your vocabulary, is it? Here, now, what seems to be the trouble? Have some tea. It's peppermint."

I'M ALREADY IN THE TEA.

"Are you? That's funny, I'm quite sure I cleaned those leaves— well, never mind. Bottoms up."

Methos leaned back and drank from his bottle. His companion looked around the barge in what he supposed was a curious manner. It was... a little hard to tell with this one.

IS THIS YOURS?

Methos nearly snorted himself into choking. "That's rich. You bloody well know it's not. But I'm perfectly happy to give you the run of the place. Gracious host and all that."

I LIKE THE BATHROOM.

"You've been in, have you? I suppose you've already given yourself the tour then. Welcome to my humble non-abode."

I'VE ALREADY—

"Yes, yes. I know, it's alright. You'll have to allow me my little pleasantries and all that rot. Difficult habit to kick." Methos swigged his beer tea, hold the tea. "I don't usually have visitors, you know. Especially not such infamous ones as you. Come to think of it, it's been ages since I've seen you. How have you been holding up?"

FINE.

Methos cocked his head at the other. "Just fine? Not splendid, or spectacular? Or maybe even fantastic?"

SPLENDID.

The Immortal smirked. "Good on you, then. How are the wife and kids?"

WHICH ONES?

"Touché." Methos tapped his bottle thoughtfully and leaned back with a smile. "You know, I had a wife once. Or, actually, more than once, but the woman I'm talking about was just the most glorious, understanding person I've ever known. Not like me. So good with kids, did you know? So patient."

I KNOW ALL YOUR WIVES.

"Yes, thanks ever so much for that considerate reminder, I'd nearly forgotten," Methos said caustically. He took a swig of beer to right his mood, then gestured at his companion. "Well. Here's where I say, you're looking rather ghostly. And then you thank me and take some tea, and ask after my well-being. And I say, oh, quite splendid as well, cheers, and proceed to tell you that which you already know. So let's just skip over that rubbish, shall we?"

THAT IS ACCEPTABLE.

"Good. Now. Where were we?"

SKIPPING.

"Right." Methos tossed his bottle cap with one hand. "You know, it really has been years. The last time I saw you, I was doing a rather poor job of posing."

THAT IS NOT THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU.

"No, I wager it wasn't. Old man, do you think you can ever forgive me for that farce? I've not had a chance to ask you about it. Hiding behind my own humiliation and insufferable self-pity, you know."

I DO NOT FORGIVE.

"Yes, everyone with any sense and a healthy lack of narcissism knows that. But perhaps you could pretend a bit so I can sleep at night. You see, I've met other 'me's, and I can tell you, there is nothing quite like the disappointment and epiphany of seeing yourself through another's eyes. You would be well within your rights never to speak to me again."

NONSENSE.

"Oh, my ancient _arse_ , old man! I'd no idea what I was doing. Should have been put out of my misery when I first slapped blue paint on my face. Bloody hell, _that_ was a massacre of good sense, wasn't it? I hadn't the slightest clue about who I was trying to be."

YOU KNEW ME BETTER THAN YOU THINK.

"You see, there's where I must disagree," Methos muttered with a soft sigh. "I bollocksed that bit up completely. I'm afraid I was never very objective about people. Not like you at any rate."

WHAT ARE THOSE?

"People? Humans. You know them, surely. You follow them around and end their sorrows."

WHAT DO THEY LOOK LIKE?

"Well... a bit like you and me, I suppose."

WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE?

"Erm. Yes, well, when you put it that way, I really have no idea."

MOST PEOPLE DON'T.

Methos saluted with his half-empty bottle. "Good, then I don't have to feel like I'm alone in a massive, unpredictably fluidic world. Oh, wait a minute."

SARCASM SUITS YOU.

"I've been told that. It's comforting, really. One thing I haven't lost throughout the span of my considerable life."

AND DEATH.

"And death."

WE WERE VERY CHUMMY THEN.

Methos exhaled through his nose and passed a hand over his forehead. Thought about pressing the still-cold bottle there instead. "My one constant. Or inconstant, as the case may be. I bow to your superior skill, and happily resign my title - again - to the other more recently psychotic despots and aberrations out there. God knows there have always been plenty without my _help_." He scowled at himself, unable to fight the disgust curling in his chest. Damn it all.

YOU WERE VERY WELL-TRAVELED.

"Yes, I was. We all were. Horrifically so, and to my disgrace."

I FOLLOWED YOU AROUND.

"Yes, I'm quite certain I knew that."

YOU HAD LONG HAIR.

"Oh, splendid, you know what hair is. Making progress, aren't we now?"

I DO NOT MAKE PROGRESS.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Progress is nothing in the face of you. And that is where the ultimate difference lies, doesn't it? Progress occurred with or without _me_."

WITHOUT YOU?

"Good point, old man. Excellent point."

OLD MAN. THAT IS YOUR NAME.

Methos hmphed. "According to some rather less enlightened individuals with whom I am intimately acquainted. Sadly, it does indeed fit me."

I AM OLD.

"Exactly. Though there has to be at least one being, one tiny speck of microcosmos that is older, hasn't there? It only stands to reason."

YES. HIS NAME WAS FRED.

"Delightful sort?"

HE WAS OLDER THAN DELIGHTFUL.

"Ah, but how do you know that? Mightn't delightful have been different back then?"

I WANT TO BE DELIGHTFUL.

"Cheers, Older Man, but I don't know how you can be, considering." Methos tipped his latest bottle on end, found nothing in it, and slammed it down to reach for another. "Ah, thank goodness for little luxuries."

HM?

"Mac replenished his supply of beer while I was away. You know, I've a feeling he only does that when he knows I'm going to be gone for some time. One would think he actually wanted all this beer to himself. Or that he hides it. But that's ridiculous. Of course."

MAYBE HE DOESN'T WANT YOU TO DRINK.

"Well. He gets no say in the matter, now, does he?"

WHY NOT?

Methos opened his mouth, then thought for a moment and closed it again. Shrugged. Popped the beer cap and tossed it on the table. "I really don't know."

ALL THAT LIVER DAMAGE. IF YOU WERE NORMAL, I'D HAVE YOU BY NOW.

"Yes, well. A pity, that." Methos smiled winningly. "Immortality's a bitch, isn't it?"

YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

Methos propped his feet up on the couch and sprawled comfortably, raising his eyebrows at his companion. The other blinked - or as close to blinked as such a one could, with no eyelids and all - and leaned stiffly until his back was two degrees off straight up.

"There. Better, don't you think?"

MUCH BETTER. I HAVEN'T RELAXED SINCE LIVING CAME INTO FASHION.

"My dear lad, you do need to branch out more. I come from a time when sitting up straight just wasn't _done_."

TIME?

"Never you mind." Methos stretched lazily and took a leisurely sip. "So. How _has_ life been treating you? Been out into the social sphere at all? One like you... well, I think you deserve a little fun now and again."

I HAVE THREE FRIENDS.

"Yes. Quite." Methos rolled his eyes. "And what a charming bunch they are. Anyone _else?_ "

THEY HAVEN'T CALLED ME.

"Well, they must be very busy, those three. Never a dull moment. Or perhaps," Methos pointed, sitting forward again, "they think _you_ are too busy. After all, they at least have periods of rest, but you, you have to follow them around on top of everything else, don't you?"

I LIKE MY WORK. IT'S NO TROUBLE.

Methos grimaced at his beer. "No. I don't remember thinking so either."

HOW ARE YOU COPING? WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER GO?

"At that? _No._ " Methos glowered. His companion only stared back at him, and at last, Methos realized his misunderstanding. "Oh. _Oh_. Oh, no, no, that's alright. Thank you, old boy, but it's fine, really. I'm quite capable of handling it."

ARE YOU SURE? IT WOULDN'T TAKE BUT A MOMENT.

Methos contemplated his drink. "I must admit, the temptation is..." He shook himself. "But no. In a few minutes, I'd just come to life again, possibly with sullied clothing, and then where would we be? Right where we are now, I should think."

YES.

The Immortal sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch again. "I can always get MacLeod to do it later anyway."

HE WON'T.

"Yes, he will. He will if I ask nicely. We have an understanding."

THINGS CHANGE.

Methos stilled for a moment, and then carefully set his beer down and steepled his fingers. He studied his companion. "Something you know that I don't?"

ALWAYS.

Methos waved one hand, barely remembering the open beer bottle in its path in time. "Yes, yes, but aside from the little trivialities of life, the universe, and everything. What is it?"

YOU'LL HAVE TO FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO HELP YOU WITH THAT NOW.

For a moment, the barge was completely still. Then Methos jolted up off the couch. "Don't you _touch_ him."

I ALREADY HAVE. MANY TIMES.

"But not this time. Not... that way." Methos clenched his jaw and struggled to remind himself that no sword on earth would help with this particular opponent. He stabbed a finger fiercely at the other. _"Don't._ Or I'll never give you another."

YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE YOURSELF TO GIVE.

"But no others. No one, do you hear me?"

I WILL HAVE THEM ALL ANYWAY, EVENTUALLY.

Methos swallowed, a bit harder than he'd intended. "Don't take him. Someone else. Not him."

YOU WOULD PUT ANOTHER IN MY GRASP INSTEAD?

Methos swallowed again - throat much drier this time - and closed his eyes briefly. "I have before. Many times. Surely that's earned me something."

YOU NEEDN'T FUSS. THAT WASN'T WHAT I MEANT ANYWAY.

"So... not him then?" Methos waited without breathing. Of course, if he waited much longer, he _would_ be giving someone over. A bit blue in the face again, to boot. How ridiculously, hilariously, ironically--

I HAVE NO PLANS FOR HIM JUST YET.

The Immortal took a moment to process, then sighed and sat down again, rubbing his palms against his trousers. "Well. That's certainly a relief. What did you mean, then, if I may be so bold?"

HE WON'T CAUSE YOU MORE PAIN. A LITTLE ANNOYING FOR ME, AS YOU CAN IMAGINE.

"More... pain?" Methos snorted. "I'd heal. He knows that."

BUT HE WOULDN'T.

Methos blinked. "What?"

MORE TEA, PLEASE?

"Um— yes. Yes, just— Cream and— and— Wait, what did you mean by that?"

HAVE YOU ANY HONEY?

"No. No, I certainly do _not_ have any honey, not until you tell me what you meant by that!"

OH WELL.

"You—"

SAD ABOUT THE WORLD CUP, ISN'T IT?

"Stop trying to change the subject, you. We've been friends for far too long, and I think I'm entitled to a little—"

I DIDN'T GET TO GO THIS YEAR.

"And neither did I, thank god for small favors. Now will you get off your bloody pale horse and tell me what in hell you meant by—"

OH, NOT IN HELL. I DON'T GO IN FOR POLITICAL PARTIES.

"Right, I _know_ that. I bloody well pretended to be you for several years, now didn't I? It's a figure of speech! Now will you please just tell me why MacLeod wouldn't heal if he—"

WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME? I REALLY MUST BE GOING.

"You've no concept of time, you unsociable ingrate, don't you _dare_ look for a watch—"

YOUR OTHER HALF IS HOME.

Methos froze. His eyes went as big as his companion's... sockets. "W-what?"

BYE.

Methos reached, but there was only empty air, only that rising, familiar tingle through his veins. The door slammed open and MacLeod edged into the barge, scowling balefully, katana drawn and angled. His eyes widened for an instant, and then he blew out an exasperated breath and looked ceiling-ward, flinging his bag of groceries down on the floor. "What in god's name are you doing here? I thought that it felt like - But you're supposed to be in Trondheim!"

Methos opened and closed his mouth, and then shot the Scotsman a glare. He got up, padded back over to the refrigerator and jerked the door open. "Yes, that's why you restocked, isn't it? Hello to you, too."

"You can't just keep waltzing in here, you know," MacLeod said, shrugging his overcoat off. "One of these days, I'm bound to take your head off before I realize I still like you."

Methos paused, newest bottle cap in hand. He squinted at Duncan. "Would you really?"

For an interminable moment, his host just looked at him. Studied him, as if about to speak. Then Duncan huffed, breaking the spell, and stomped over to the counter. He began emptying his bag of cold goods. "Just make yourself useful and hand me the bloody saucepan, would you?"

Methos did.

~fin~


End file.
